


He shall, from time to time…

by laylee



Category: Captain America (2011), Captain America (Comics), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 08:18:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laylee/pseuds/laylee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently the Winter Soldier can speak at least four different languages. Bucky's not so sure about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He shall, from time to time…

**Author's Note:**

> Title take from The West Wing episode of the same name. All the bits in other languages came from the interwebs so please forgive me and offer suggestions if they are wrong. Also posted to LJ and DW.

Sometimes it's so easy to forget what country he's in, even what language he speaks.

He and Steve stop by the news stand outside the main entrance to SHIELD HQ so Bucky can buy a newspaper and a packet of gum for himself and a copy of the _New Yorker_ for Steve. As he's searching his wallet for the fifty he knows he's got stashed in there somewhere, he and the newsstand guy chat about the Mets and how baseball isn't what it used to be. He finds the cash, hands it over, grabs his change and turns back to Steve who is now looking at him wide-eyed and with his mouth slightly agape.

"What?" he demands.

Steve blinks a couple of times and shakes his head like he's just snapped out of a spell.

"You realize that you just had an entire conversation in Polish?" Steve informs him.

"I- what?"

Suddenly disorientated Bucky turns to look at the newsstand guy who shoots him a friendly wave and back to Steve who now has the Frown of Concern playing between his brows. Bucky's head is spinning and he hasn't even had a drink today.

"Bucky -?"

"I'm okay," he says, running his hand through his hair.

"Are you sure?"

No, he isn't, but he doesn't want to talk about it on the sidewalk with God and everyone else within earshot.

"Come on, they're waiting for us," he says abruptly and stalks away.

 

***

 

"I'm not sure how it work's," he tells his therapist later that week. She's SHIELD appointed and SHIELD trained and her main role is to determine if he's sane enough to be let lose on the general populace as a field agent. Bucky thinks she's not too bad despite all of that.

"It's part of what they did to me," he continues. "Conditioning' they called it. Fucking with my mind more like it. Before then the only foreign languages I knew were curse words I'd picked up in the army."

"Many people envy the ability to speak other languages," she tells him as she makes a note on her pad. "It's a gift."

"Nothing they gave me is a gift," Bucky replies through gritted teeth. "You think what they did to me is a gift?"

"No, I don't." she says honestly. "I think what they did to you is unbelievably wrong. But I also think that a positive can come out of a negative, if you allow it to happen."

Bucky has no idea what to say to that. So he says nothing.

 

***

 

The words start to jumble in his head and Bucky finds it increasingly difficult to know what to say at all.

He orders coffee in German and pizza in French and has to stop and think about it for a good five minutes to prevent himself from babbling in Russian at the girl in the grocery store.

Eventually it's easier to say nothing at all because he never knows what his traitorous mind will come up whenever he opens his mouth.

No one seems to notice that he's quieter than usual. No one, that is, except Steve who always notices everything where Bucky is concerned. And as the days wear on and the intensity of Steve's scrutiny increases, Bucky hates that he's made the Frown of Concern turn into the Wrinkle of Worry and that the melancholy look in Steve's eyes is all because of him.

But he can't seem to form a sentence in less than three languages to even try and explain what's going on inside his crazy, fucked-up mind, so he keeps his head down, stays schtum and hopes that it will sort its self out eventually.

 

***

 

Exercise is good. Exercise works. If he's exercising all he has to do is concentrate on the here and now – making his body work to its limit and keeping his mind at bay.

Bucky starts spending hours in the SHIELD gym, running on the treadmill, lifting weights, jumping rope, working the heavy bag and swimming endless laps in the pool. He practices hand-to-hand with Natasha and tries not the care that the only words that come out of his mouth during their sparring sessions are in Russian. He's more successful when he's on the shooting range with Hawkeye and it takes all of his concentration to not make a dick of himself in front of Clint Barton.

His body thanks him for it, even if his mind has other things to say, and he has never been in better shape in his _life._

Exercise and shooting things. They're so much easier than talking.

 

***

 

Fury closes the file in front of him and looks Bucky squarely in the eye.

"Do you think you're ready for field work, Sergeant Barnes?"

"Yes, sir, I do," Bucky replies and he thanks the gods that at least he managed to answer him in English.

"Your reports are looking good, I have to say, and of course Captain Rogers has assured me that you're more than up to it."

"Thank you, sir." Bucky smiles a little at the praise, however he can sense a 'but' looming large.

Fury nods approvingly and opens the file again. "But I'm not sure that it would be the right thing to do at the moment.

And there it is. Bucky squirms in his chair and doesn't break anything, even though he wants to. Badly.

"I would disagree, sir," Bucky says, as steadily as he can. "On what are you basing this decision?

"Dr Barnaby feels that there are still issues that you need to work on." Fury says.

"Issues? What kind of issues?"

"Dr Barnaby is worried that might you might still be experiencing some anxiety about events in your past. This is manifesting its self in a certain amount of dissociation and she feels that this could be a distraction to you while on active duty.

" _Dissociation_?" Bucky tries the word out on his tongue. He's not sure he even knows what it means.

"Dr Barnaby feels that it would beneficial for you to hold back on going out into the field for a while longer, so that you can work through things some more." Fury closes the file again and his expression softens. "I'm sorry, Barnes. As much as I want to clear you, I do think you need a little more time."

"With all due respect sir," Bucky replies evenly, almost coldly, and he has the Winter Soldier to thank for at least giving him composure under pressure. "I believe that I have had more than enough time to prove myself. I have done everything you have asked of me and more. I have taken every test, been through every evaluation; I have been poked, I have been prodded and most of the people around here treat me like a fucking _science experiment_. And now you're telling me that I need more _time_?"

"I'm sorry, Barnes," Fury says again and his tone tells Bucky that that is pretty much the end of it.

"So am I," Bucky says abruptly, and leaves.

Bucky does not slam the door as he exists Fury's office, and he does not punch the wall with his metal hand either. And even though Bucky had asked him not to, Steve has obviously been loitering in the hall with Clint since he headed in for his meeting and they both look at him expectantly when he appears.

"How'd it go?" Steve asks and Bucky can tell he's trying to not be too enthusiastic just in case it's bad news.

"You back in action, kiddo?" Clint asks with a smirk.

" _Оставьте меня в покое_![1]" Bucky snaps and he's pretty sure that should tell them everything they need to know.

 

***

 

Bucky stands before the mirror in his bathroom, stripped naked as he examines himself.

He sees scars and blemishes, a metal arm on one side and real flesh and blood on the other. Pink nipples peek out from the hair on his chest; there is three days worth of stubble on his chin, blue eyes and a pale, flaccid cock nestling in his pubes. There is a red star on his metal shoulder that will forever remind him of those who created him and a bruise on his real forearm from where he whacked it against a table the other day.

He rubs his hand over his face and says to his mirror self, "I am not the sum of my parts."

After his meeting with Fury, Bucky had gone down to the gym where he'd goaded Natasha into beating the crap out of him until she was called away to do her actual job. He knows all the right buttons to push to make her come at him like a tiger and she was more than happy to oblige. It didn't make him feel better, but at least the exertion was enough to take his mind of the fact that apparently he was still seen as a risk not worth taking.

Just before she left, when he was lying on the mat, little more than a sweating, exhausted heap, she had crouched down beside him, laid a cool hand on his arm and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"You are not the sum of your parts, James."

He'd blinked at her, trying hard to make sense of it, but she was as inscrutable as always and now he was hiding out in the bathroom, stark naked and staring at himself in the mirror.

There is another bruise on his right thigh from where Natasha got him with the edge of her foot and his fingernails are bitten to the quick.

" _Wer bin ich?_[2]" he asks himself, but there's no one to answer the question.

 

***

 

On Tuesday there's evil over Oslo and despite what he'd said the last time Bucky had spoken to him, Fury has sent him out with the team anyway because he needs every pair of hands he can muster for this job, even unstable, blood-stained hands like Bucky's.

Covert Hydra sleeper cells do not make for a fun time for anyone and he spends the next five days dodging bullets and bombs and trying not get himself killed. Again.

Bucky runs beside Steve who is flinging his shield around like a discus and it's just like the old days, except that it's nothing like the old days because now he has a metal arm and a worrisome back story and all these words in different languages jumbling around in his head and making no sense.

But he's got no time to think about it because there's a flash of red, white and blue as the shield zooms past to take down a bad guy and he has to duck, roll and shoot before another goon gets him. And suddenly he and Natasha are fighting back to back while Hawkeye takes out everything he can from the top of whatever building he's perched upon and Tony and Thor are keeping pace with Hulk as they try and contain things further down the street. Bucky barks out an order to a SHIELD agent, and who even knows what language he used, but they seemed to get the gist of what he was saying because then he's got the ammo he needs to reload and keep fighting.

"You doing okay?" Steve asks a short while later as they both pause for breath.

" _Da_ … yes, I'm doing fine," he says, bending over to work out a stitch in his side.

"Oh my god, it speaks!" Tony chimes in over the comms.

" _Pierdol sie **[3]**_ , Stark," Bucky snarls.

"Oh yeah? You and who's army?" Tony spits back from several hundred miles above them.

Bucky scowls at nothing and Steve stops him with a hand on his shoulder, levelling him with that damn earnest gaze of his. 

"When this is over we need to talk."

"Do we indeed?"

"Yes, we do. Now duck!"

 

~*~*~

 

"You enjoyed it?"

"I did." Bucky narrows his eyes. "Is it wrong to enjoy eliminating bad guys?"

"Depends on the context," says Dr Barnaby, and she makes a note on her pad.

"It was good to get out. Felt almost useful," he adds with a snort.

"And how are the words?"

"Still there," Bucky says miserably. He slumps a little in his chair. "He's never going to let me go, is he?"

"Who?"

"Him-" Bucky flaps his hand. "The other guy."

"The other guy?"

"Winter Soldier."

"Ah."

"I am more than the sum of my parts, aren't I?"

"That's an interesting concept, Sergeant Barnes." She makes another note on her pad. "Would you care to explore it?"

 

***

 

It's Sunday and the world isn't ending for a change so Bucky is spending the morning in bed doing as little as possible.

Steve 'Mr Active' Rogers has gotten up, as usual, at the bumcrack of dawn and has disappeared for a run, so Bucky is taking advantage of not having to share the bed with a mountain of muscle and is sprawled in all directions as he reads his book and contemplates making coffee.

"Nice to see you making good use of your down time, Buck."

The book goes flying and before he can even think about it Bucky's hand has closed over the Glock he keeps under the pillow. Steve can be awfully stealthy for such a big guy and Bucky didn't even hear him enter the apartment, and hells bells what sort of idiot sneaks up on a former Soviet assassin with identity issues anyway?

"Jesus, Rogers, give a guy a little bit of warning, won'tcha?" Bucky grumbles as he tucks the gun away and crawls to the other end of the bed to retrieve his book. "Do I gotta put a bell on you or what?

"So the cat really hasn't got your tongue." Steve says, smiling down at him. He's all flushed from his run, with his hair sticking up in odd places and sweat running down his cheeks and he is so fucking gorgeous that Bucky seriously contemplates just grabbing hold of him, wrestling him onto the bed and never letting go.

"Do you mind not dripping on me?" he asks instead, trying for droll.

"Bucky, you know my French is pretty much nonexistent," Steve says placidly.

Bucky looks at him wide-eyed, opens his mouth and closes it again, and seriously, he has _no_ idea what he's doing anymore, none whatsoever. He looks up at Steve and Steve is looking at him, all thoughtful and concerned and Bucky can't help but notice that the Wrinkle of Worry has been replaced by the Crease of Consternation. He lets go a soft breath that he didn't even realise he was holding when Steve leans in to press a kiss to his forehead as his hand comes up to gently stroke Bucky's hair.

"You smell," Bucky says, wrinkling his nose, but there's no heat in the complaint.

"I'm going to take a shower," Steve murmurs against his temple. "You are going to make us some coffee and then we are going to talk."

Bucky pushes at him a little so he can look him in the eye. "If I tell you I don't want to, is that going to make a difference?"

"What do you think?"

"What if I give you a blow job?"

"Bucky!"

Steve's cheeks flush - and Jesus, some things really never change, do they? – but he's got his resolved face on and Bucky knows that at this point in time, nothing will change that stubborn, beautiful mind.

Steve disappears into the bathroom and a few moments later the shower starts up. Bucky stares at the bathroom door and wonders if he should maybe just go and climb in with him anyway, because when it comes right down to it, he is not above using sex to try and worm his way out of this particular conversation.

But he also knows that no matter how hard he tries to distract Steve – and Bucky can be very distracting when he put his mind to it - they will eventually get around to talking about it. Because Steve is freakily focused in that regard and when he wants to talk about something, there will be talking about it and there is absolutely no way to dissuade him.

So he gets out of bed, pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of boxers and goes to make the coffee. And because he's hungry and he knows that Steve, with his million miles an hour metabolism, will be _famished_ he's got bacon and eggs sizzling on the skillet when a still damp but much cleaner and far less smelly Captain Rogers appears in the doorway.

"Bacon and eggs?" Steve asks hopefully.

" _Ja_ ," Bucky replies absently in German and then says in English, "Sit down, won'tcha?"

Steve sits at the table as Bucky shuts off the stove and serves up a plate for Steve and one for himself. There's a pile of toast and a pot of coffee and it could any one of a thousand breakfasts they've eaten together over the years, except for the fact that this one will also involved a conversation about why Bucky can't seem to remember his mother tongue and how it's been freaking him out for the last month.

"I'm not freaking out," Bucky says as a way of pre-empting Steve.

"I think you might be," Steve answers mildly as he butters a piece of toast. "And to be honest, even if you're not, I am."

"You are?"

Steve sets the toast down and levels him with a steady gaze. "What's going on Bucky?"

Bucky looks at Steve and Steve looks back and goddamn it, he did not want this, not at all. Because yes, he is freaking out, has been ever since the news stand, but that was between him and god and his therapist and he thought that by simply shutting up and not saying much of anything his stupid brain might reset its self and everything would go back to being as normal as it's ever been.

Suddenly not hungry, Bucky shoves his breakfast away and drops his head into his hands.

"I think I'm going mad. _Je ne sais pas **[4]**_ , I… shit!"

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and wishes desperately for an off switch for his brain. He can hear the scrape of a chair being pushed back, but he's not sure he can handle being touched at the moment so he puts his hand up, motioning for Steve to stay put as he takes a deep breath and tries to centre himself.

"One of the reasons why the Winter Soldier was so good at what he did is because he could blend in," Bucky says, going for bland so his voice doesn't crack. "The guy you're standing next to is not necessarily going to suspect that you might be about to stick him with a stiletto if you're speaking the same language as he does."

Steve swallows audibly as Bucky finally looks up. He knows that Steve has read the reports, all of them - even the ones Bucky can't bring himself to look at - but it doesn't stop Steve from getting this haunted look in his eyes whenever the reality of what the Winter Soldier was is presented to him.

"It was part of my training and I have no idea how they did it to me," Bucky continues, trying to push it out so that it doesn't get stuck again, "how they put all these words into my head so they could turn me into this _thing_. But one day I was me and the next thing I know is I can speak French and German and Polish and goddamn fucking _Russian_. And they're still all in there, Steve, they are always fucking there and sometimes it's like he never really went away. I can hear his voice in my head and it's only gonna take one little thing to bring him back and then where will I be?"

"That is not going to happen," Steve insists.

"How do you know that?" Bucky demands, his real fist thumping into the table and making Steve and their breakfast jump in protest. "I don't even know that! I was so deep, Steve, so fucking buried under him that it's a fucking goddamn miracle that I even managed to break through even once without the cube. Half the time I can't even remember what damn language I'm supposed to be speaking. How in the hell am I supposed to keep a lid on something like _him_?"

"I don't know," Steve says, all solemn and grave and Bucky just slumps in his chair. "Bucky, seriously, I wish I had the answer for you, but I don't. But if there is one thing I know, it's that James Barnes would never intentionally do anything to hurt anyone, not if there was any way to avoid it, and that's what you've got to remember. Focus on that and not something that might never happen."

And dammit it if those bloody blue eyes aren't full of earnest trust and belief in _him_ , for all his apparent insanity, and how the hell did he luck out like this? Seriously, how?

"You've got to promise me," Bucky says, gripping the table as he leans forward.

"Promise you what?"

"If it comes down to it-"

"No!"

"Steve, if it comes down to it –"

"No! Steve's chair topples backwards as he leaps up and closes the distance between them to haul Bucky to his feet, his fingers digging into Bucky's shoulders. "Just, _no_."

"If it comes down to it -" Bucky grinds out again.

"No, absolutely not. I will not do that; I _can't_ do that – Bucky, what the _hell_? How can you even ask me?"

"Because you're my best friend and there's no one I trust more than you Steve, no one, I swear to god. Who else can I ask?"

Bucky looks at Steve helplessly and Steve, god bless him, is trying for stern and commanding but really he's looking just as forlorn as Bucky feels.

"You might not have a choice, Steve," Bucky whispers desolately. "I might not have a choice and if comes to it –"

"No." Steve practically screams and Bucky can't protest any further because suddenly Steve's lips are crushing against his in a kiss that is both terrible and tremendous in its intensity. Bucky struggles briefly, wanting to take a stand and press his point home, but Steve is so much stronger than he is, in so many ways, and he has no choice but to allow himself to be drawn into it - to drown in it - using it as punishment and benediction all in one.

"Please, Bucky," Steve whispers when they part. "Please don't ask me. Please don't ask this of me. I will do anything for you, anything at all and you know that. But not this, just not this. I can't do this, I just _can't_."

"Steve –" Bucky says weakly and Steve brings his hands up to cup Bucky's face, sweeping the pads of his thumbs along Bucky's cheekbones and giving him such a hopeful, wondrous look that Bucky can't deny him anything.

There's something pricking in his eyes that are definitely not tears as Bucky finally nods in agreement and Steve draws him in close, burying his face in Bucky's shoulder as Bucky's arms come around him and squeeze.

Bucky has no idea what was going on inside his head - or if he can ever fix it - but he does know that there is one thing that he can count on in this world. Because it's the same thing he's been counting on ever since he was a raggedy kid roaming the streets of Brooklyn eighty years ago.

 

***

 

On Wednesday Bucky plays a game of chess with Bruce while they wait for Tony to finish tinkering with Bucky's arm.

They converse in French throughout the entire game and Bucky tries not to think anything of it at all, really.

 

 

 

FIN

 

 

 

* * *

[1] (Russian) Leave me alone!

[2] (German) Who am I?

[3] (Polish) Go fuck yourself

[4] (French) I don’t know


End file.
